


what once was (don't hold your breath)

by clenchedhands



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Angst, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Death, F/M, Gen, Hanahaki Disease, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, One-Sided Relationship, Other, Pining, Suicidal Thoughts, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-29 06:19:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12625038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clenchedhands/pseuds/clenchedhands
Summary: He isn’t sure when it happened, but one day he looks across the sparring circle at Camp Half-Blood and the view of Percy’s shirtless sweaty form as he fights makes him feel like he wants to turn into a shadow and stay that way for the rest of his life. He isn’t sure when it happened, but now the blue flowers he chokes up every day don’t look even remotely beautiful.He knows love should not be like this.





	1. Nymphaea caerulea

**Author's Note:**

> heres a song to listen to that this is loosely based on, its called 'some are lakes' by land of talk https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1kIQT7uUiME
> 
> im in the middle of reading the trials of apollo so none of that is really mentioned here.
> 
> read the tags, cw for death, depression, self harm, and just general sad shit.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He isn’t sure when it happened, but now the blue flowers he chokes up every day don’t look even remotely beautiful.
> 
> He knows love should not be like this.

 

* * *

_"We've seen how Sick Wind blows,_

_But I've got your bovine eyes._

_I'll love you like I love you_

_Then I'll die."_

* * *

 

_Nico di Angelo is ten years old. Despite the whole being a demigod, lived in a hotel for seventy years, can control the dead, is almost killed by a manticore thing, he is just a child. He wants to play Mythomagic and laugh with his sister. He wants to have a normal childhood, learn to ride a bike, be excited about staying up late, and laugh freely and adorably as any ten year old might._

_He is ten years old and he misses his mom. He holds on to the memory of her cloying perfume, the jingle of her long jeweled earrings, her kind brown eyes, like his life depends on that memory to never, ever fade. Nico is ten years old, and the only person he has left is his sister. But she is offered something she cannot resist, and Nico knows it’s what is best for her, but he can’t help feeling like he is being abandoned. She left him. He is so small and so scared and wants the warm embrace of a parent, the feeling of being safe, but everyone left. Nico is ten years old, and he should be wishing for a new toy, for a piece of candy, but he isn’t._ **_He just wants to feel safe._ **

If the gods were kind, maybe he would have been able to do and have all that. But the gods are not kind (not by a long shot). Nico di Angelo has his childhood ripped from his body like a still beating heart is ripped from a chest; bloody, tragic, and all too soon.

*                          *                           *

His throat burns, searing down to every nerve in his body. It’s like Tartarus all over again, it’s like he is cupping his hands into the River Phlegethon, drinking deep to live only to be brought to an inch from death. He coughs, body doubled over the bathroom toilet as petals comes up from his lungs, covered in blood. It had gone away for a while - his chest didn’t sear, branded by something that would never be. A moment of respite. A moment where loving Percy Jackson didn’t define every single goddamned thing he did. He could breath.

All it took was talking with him, all it took was having to open his heart, bloody and torn, so that they could win the war.

Nico knew the brief respite was too good to be true.

*                          *                           *

Nico is good at making himself scarce. So he does. It’s almost too easy to ignore everyone and tell himself that no one wants him around anyway. There are few places he’s comfortable in, and while the Underworld doesn’t exactly make him feel warm and fuzzy, it’s a really good place to brood. Also there’s a never ending supply of monsters to fight. Nico spends the time after the Battle of Manhattan here, alternating between trying to find out more about himself and Bianca, and fighting everything that so much as looks at him the wrong way.

Learning that Bianca reincarnated is a punch to the gut stronger than any of the monsters he fought. 

So, he does what he does best. He ignores his issues. One day - or is it night? Time isn’t relevant in the Underworld - he gets a bit in over his head, and wakes up in a bed to a pounding headache. Flashes of being thrown up into the air and pummeled into the ground flash through his head. He looks around, and there’s a man sitting in the corner, seemingly asleep. His eyes open in the next second, and Nico realizes its Hades. His father. He opens his mouth to speak, but instead he lets out a strangled cough, blood coating his mouth. A petal falls out.

“Nico,” Hades looks at him, and Nico tries not to scowl. Seeing as Nico's face is in a perpetual scowl, this doesn't really work. “You almost died.”

“Whoops,” Nico wipes his mouth, shrugging his shoulders dismissively. His self preservation skills haven't been the best lately.

Hades arches an eyebrow, the torch on the wall flickering, “You should have it removed. There’s an undead surgeon here who is quite good.”

“I’m sure,” It's a mutter, as Nico gets up from the bed only to stumble and almost fall over, legs shaking. He sighs and meets his father's gaze, ignoring the dancing skeletons in his pupil. Why were they dancing anyway? “What, uh, happened?”

“You should probably rest. Alecto found you unconscious and surrounded by several giant man-eating snails.” Nico blinked in surprise. That was a new one. If he had a bucket list, he would have crossed that off. Hades continued, “I know you’re going through a… tough spot right now. Consider it.”

Nico said nothing, sinking back into the bed. Hades looked at him expectantly. “Fine. Thanks.”

Hades heaved out a sigh as he left his son.

 

After Tartarus, he steers clear of the underworld for a bit. He figures he’s had enough of the damp, cold, dim place to last a couple dozen lifetimes.

*                          *                           *

Sometimes he wonders how much effort it would take to make Percy cave in. He imagines crying, begging, _I love you I love you I love you. Please love me back._

And that’s the best (worst) part, right? That Percy Jackson would do it. He would kiss him, he would hold him, he would whisper pretty nothings in his ear, if that’s what he thought would make Nico happy. He would do it a billion times over if it meant Nico wouldn’t die.

The word loyalty is bitter in Nico’s mouth. The word selfless is acid on his tongue.

*                          *                           *

It crosses every half-blood’s thoughts at one point; why did my godly parent choose to have a kid with a mortal if they knew they would have to leave, have to break their heart? Did they even care for their parents, knowing that they would die and it wouldn’t even be a fraction of the immortal life gods live? The gods always speak of how fickle and insignificant humans are, and yet here are hundreds of kids, irrevocable evidence of the gods’ hypocrisy.

You’d think Hades would have learned his lesson and kept his dick in his pants. For all their everlasting wisdom, the gods just don’t know how to stop. At least, this is what Nico di Angelo thinks. He would rather have never been born. Fuck prophecies, fuck fate. 

He thinks this and basically begs to be struck down. At least if he died that way it wouldn’t be at his own hands.

*                          *                           *

The first time an entire flower comes up, it’s right after he talks to a very confused Percy, who doesn’t even remember his face. He felt the cough building as they talked, and afterward he practically sprinted to the bathroom on the barrack, bumping into a surprised camper on the way. He gasped as it struggled his way out of his throat, choking off his air supply. The petals scratched the back of his throat and he gagged, just barely avoiding throwing up by shoving him hand into his mouth and pulling out the flower. He knew that it was some type of blue-violet flower, seeing as that is the color of the petals. But because only bits and pieces had been coming up, he wasn’t sure what kind it was.

Nico flushed the toilet, nose scrunching at the gross mixture of blood, flowers and bile. He stepped out, glad that everyone was out of the cabin to see what was going on with the arrival of their newest amnesiac camper. He washed off the flower, and went to Hazel’s bed where he had left the laptop. Marveling at how easy it was nowadays to find out information, he searched for the type of flower.

_Nymphaea caerulea._

Nico is a sarcastic guy. He tends to be blunt, and deadpan jokes are a quintessential part of him. He understands irony better than most. But this? This was pushing his limits in the irony department. 

A blue water lilly. A lotus flower. Nico wonders what god out there had this much of a sick sense of humor, making the flower that was killing him a fucking lotus. He slammed the screen shut, and looked at his palm where he had unintentionally crushed the flower.

_ Fucking incredible. _

 

(When he meets Cupid he realizes that he is the god with that sick sense of humor. Nico wonders if he can kill a god.)

 

*                          *                           *

He isn’t sure when he reached the turning point from frustrated to exhausted, from determined to resigned. He thinks it’s somewhere between meeting Percy with his memories wiped and finding out Annabeth is the only face he remembers, and Jason witnessing his forced confession. He isn’t sure when it happened, but one day he looks across the sparring circle at Camp Half-Blood and the view of Percy’s shirtless, sweaty, unfairly-in-shape form as he fights makes him feel like he wants to turn into a shadow and stay that way for the rest of his life. He isn’t sure when it happened, but now the blue flowers he chokes up every day don’t look even remotely beautiful.

He knows love should not be like this.

(Hindsight bias is a thing - in retrospect he knows that this love turned sour the moment his trust was broken into a billion pieces, the moment Bianca died.)

*                          *                           *

“You need to have it removed,” Jason Grace sits next to Nico, where he is under a cypress tree near the shore of the lake in Camp Half-Blood. His eyes are closed in the hopes that no one would bother him. Jason doesn't fall for it. He sees a flower on the ground next to him, torn in half and covered in dried blood. 

“I know,” Nico opened his eyes, looking at the blond boy beside him. “I know.”

“I suppose there’s nothing I can say to convince you.” Jason’s eye brows are creased as he says this, care evident in his voice. Nico sighs.

“… Probably not.” It’s a whisper.

“Nico, this isn’t what love should be.” It’s a plea. “It shouldn’t hurt this much.”

Nico smiles, the antithesis Jason’s frown. “You’re right. I should have it removed, and if I don’t it will kill me. If I don’t I will die and it will be my fault, not Percy’s. Never Percy’s. If I don’t, all of my friends will know why I died, that it was because I was too weak to live without this feeling. That my whole life was defined by this shitty crush and I don't even know how to live without devoting every fiber of my being to Percy Fucking Jackson. Because I-“

“Nico,” Jason’s voice is alarmed. Nico was not one to have an outburst like this. “That’s not-“

“No! It is! That is exactly how it is!” He stood up suddenly, running his hand through his messy curls, eyes like flint. The grass at his feet begins to wither. “That’s how it is, and you know it. Otherwise you wouldn’t be working so hard to get me to remove it.”

Nico sighs again, pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry for yelling at you. I’m tired, Jason. I’m so tired.” His voice cracks at the end, dissolving into painful coughs. Jason stands up as well, stepping forward and wrapping his arms around Nico. He’s a good head taller and he rests his chin on Nico’s head. Nico is shaking, and Jason feels his shirt dampen a bit, a mix of blood and tears. He squeezes tighter.

“Thank you, Jason, but I just- I just can’t.” Nico doesn't even mention the fact that he hates being touched, and Jason's worries for him expands.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

*                          *                           *

And who gave him the right to look like that anyway? Like, yeah sure, you’re literally half Greek god, but that doesn’t mean you should look like a perfectly sculpted statue. Nico has taken to training only at Camp Jupiter. At least there, the hot sweaty guys aren’t _him._ (Also, the Romans are absolutely ruthless, and the ache in Nico's muscles distracts him, albeit only a little while.)

*                          *                           *

He almost wishes it had crept up on him, maybe then he wouldn’t feel so much like he was thrown into the ocean with weights dragging him down, drowning him. He knows the metaphor is contemptuous. The irony does not go past him. That’s kind of the point. He wishes it came up bit by bit, because maybe then his body would have adapted to it, like taking small doses of a poison to become immune. It doesn’t work like that, of course, which he knows as well. But anything would be better than this feeling, this horrible swell of a tide dragging him under and suffocating him.

He is gasping for air, but no one is coming. Water floods his nose, and it burns so much, oh gods why does it burn so much? There is the pain of suffocating, and then there is the pain of loving someone who loves someone else. They don’t even begin to compare.

Nico is drowning, and maybe he is already dead, the pressure of an entire ocean crushing his skull.

Nico is drowning and it doesn’t even matter that there’s more water than air in his lungs, that the flowers are florid and flourishing.

 

Nico is drowning and he never wants to stop.

*                          *                           *

Nico is a bit of a drama queen. He knows this - creating an army of the dead for the person you love kind of gives it away. In his mind, the cities are already razed. In his mind, love is a skyline crumbling down, devotion is miles and miles of obliterated pavement. He imagines the Empire State Building being demolished last, after it had to watch all its siblings fall to the ground. He imagines being the last person alive, but even the loneliness that thought evokes doesn’t compare to the hurt he feels now. 

Still, he imagines it all burning to the ground.

 

It doesn’t actually make him feel any better.

*                          *                           *

Nico isn’t an idiot. He is well aware that running away from his problem won’t solve anything, as he is graciously reminded every time he coughs up blood in a public restroom halfway around the world from Camp Half-Blood.

He isn’t an idiot, and so he figures he might as well see the world before he dies. And, although it doesn’t stop the flowers from tearing apart his esophagus, he finds some sort of peace in ending up somewhere where no one knows him and he knows no one. He visits everywhere, starting with Italy. He is fluent in Italian, and actually can read it with ease, a strange thing for a demigod whose dyslexia is cause by his brain trying to read everything in Greek.

Everything is different, and everything is the same. The trolleys, the boats, the markets, the architecture - all of it screams “home”. He soaks it in, burning the images into his brain. He misses Bianca. She would have know how to help him. She would have been able to take away at least some of the pain. But she isn’t there, and Nico knows there’s no point in clutching onto what could have been. (Not that he stops.)

Instead, he finds his old apartment. The building had obviously been demolished and rebuilt, now sporting a more modern take on baroque-style architecture. A mother walks out, holding the hand of a young girl with dark curls and bright eyes. Nico’s heart nearly stops; she looks like Bianca. He clenched his hands and inhales slowly. It isn’t her, of course. Memories flash through his head, ones he had never seen before. Skipping down a block, his mother’s gentle laughter following. The warmth of a fireplace, crackling merrily as snow falls outside. The marching of heavy boots, the fear of someone knocking on your door, a new flag adorning the entrance a shocking red and black design. A smile, a home-cooked meal. A family.

He knows there are memories that will never come back to him, parts of his life that might as well have been someone else's. 

_Nico is four years old, toddling along outside with a piece of chalk in his hand. He and Bianca are scribbling on the sidewalk, creating abstract modern art in a way only young children can. Nico is four, and so when he sees a boy, maybe about fourteen with a pink triangle on his shirt he doesn't hesitate in asking what it meant. In the brutally honest voice of someone who doesn't even know what the word tact means, he says, in clumsy Italian, "What's that for? Is it a special badge?"_

_The boy looks sad, and Nico doesn't know why, but he pouts because it was such a nice day out and he shouldn't be sad. The boy in unsure what to say. How can he explain to this four year old that who he loves is morally wrong? How can he tell this child who has to to experience romantic love that some love is abhorrent, is abominable? He can't._

_"Yes, it's special." The boy gives as much of a smile as he can muster, walking quickly away._

_Nico, satisfied with this answer, goes back to doodling. He soon forgets this interaction, favoring instead to play with Bianca._

When Nico comes back to himself, he begrudgingly thanks his father, knowing that he's the only one who could have released those memories. Unconsciously, Nico knows that the message is that he isn't wrong for loving who he does, that the internalized self-loathing is a result of trauma. Admitting that is not something he does easily, and getting over that is not something that really happens at all. This home isn’t his anymore, and for a moment he wonders why this doesn’t bother him. But, he knows why; he has a new home, one with his friends. 

*                          *                           *

Nico loves Hazel, so it comes as no surprise when she immediately embarks on a mission to help him forget the whole mess. She doesn't even tell him he needs to have it taken out, and honestly Nico isn't really sure what to think of that. They devise a game. It’s simple, and mostly based on the fact that the twenty first century is so much different than their childhood lives. The rules are this: find a weird toy or item, do not read the packaging, bring it back to Hazel, and guess with her what it is. 

“A _what_ spinner?” Hazel’s cheeks are red from laughing, and Nico is in a similar state. They are on the floor of the fifth cohort’s barrack several trinkets spread out before them.

“Fidget,” Hazel makes a face. Nico grins, replying, “I don’t know, I really don’t.”

Eventually, this expands to trying to figure out memes, which go entirely over both of their heads. When they begin to explore those, practically the entire camp joins in, crowding around Nico’s newly bought laptop. Annabeth had found a way to keep electronics from attracting monsters, but it was tricky to produce and only a few select people had it installed. It’s painful to watch him type.

Reyna steps in, her eyebrows high on her forehead. This is probably the most everyone has gotten along in hundreds of years. “I was wondering where all my campers went. What, exactly, is going on here?”

“Honestly, Reyna, I’m not sure,” Nico throws his hands up, staring at a picture of what he’s pretty sure is a frog. “I don’t get it.”

“It’s like,” Dakota is trying his best to explain, but really has just been laughing at them with the rest of the campers. Even a few people from other cohorts snuck their way in, and were now arguing about whether or not the Pepe meme is overused. “Like ironic, you know? It’s funny because it doesn’t make sense.”

Hazel is skeptical as she replies, “That’s dumb.”

Nico scrolls down the list of memes before saying, “Yeah and this one is- “ He breaks off as coughs wrack his body. Hazel makes eye contact, worry evident in her face. Nico pulls his hands away from his mouth, keeping it clenched so no one sees the bloody petals inside.

The game is pretty successful in distracting him, for a moment.

*                          *                           *

He knew the day would come where his hand would be forced. He knew, but chose to ignore it until the day was upon him, and would not take ignorance as an answer. Bryce Lawrence is screaming at Reyna, and Nico snaps. What happens after, is a blur. There was blood on his lips, and he felt what was probably an entire bouquet trying to push it’s way out of his lungs. Said lungs felt like they were torn to shreds, which in all likely hood, probably were. 

The ground coated over with frost, and a pale glow emanated from Nico as he opened up the ground. He heard himself speak, but he isn’t sure what he said. There’s a crackle of dark energy, and then Bryce is a ghost. His ribs feel broken, and his vision begins to go blurry. He barely registers Reyna’s voice as she yells, and the last thing he sees is the eye of the Athena Parthenos, silently judging him as if to say “I told you so.” 

The world around him begins to dissolve into darkness, and relief floods his mind. It’s over. 

The last thought he has is _“If only I stayed a dandelion.”_

 

* * *

_Percy scowled, “I- I know you.” _

_ Nico raised his eyebrows. “Do you?”_

* * *

 

When Nico wakes up, the first thought he has is _why am I not dead?_ The second thought is, _ah, fuck._

“You’re awake!” Reyna is wrapping a bandage around his chest, while Coach Hedge chews nervously on what looks like a piece of tin foil. 

He breaths in, the air coming in and out smoothly, and opens his mouth to reply - wait. Smoothly? He sits straight up and sees a skeleton dressed in scrubs sink into the earth. A piece of paper lays on top of where the skeleton just disappeared, and Nico leans over to grab it, ignoring Reyna’s protests.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Nico’s voice trembles as he glares at the paper.

“ _Persephone did it, I just told here where the surgeon was.” -_ ~~ _Hades_ ~~ _Dad_

Nico stars at the paper, uncomprehending. He looks up at Reyna and Hedge’s worried faces. He doesn’t feel angry, he doesn’t even feel sad. In fact, he doesn’t even feel like anything is missing. Years and years of one sided pining, of immeasurable frustration, of unspeakable resentment, reduced to nothing. He thinks about his trust in Percy, and how it shattered after his sister died. He thinks about his sea green eyes, and how Nico wished to look into them forever. He thinks of every horrible, wonderful feeling attached to Percy Fucking Jackson. But the feelings aren’t there. And it doesn’t even feel like anything was gone. 

Nico tried to feel anything, but his mind just wouldn’t comply. Nico felt fine. Peachy.

“Are you okay?” Reyna’s voice is concerned, her eyebrows drawn together. 

“… Yeah. I’m okay.”

 

Nico fights the rest of the war, not even once thinking about his old feelings.

*                          *                           *

Annabeth is laughing at Percy, which isn't anything new. What is new is that Nico is laughing with her. They had just high-fived, which meant Nico had just told Percy he used to have a crush on him. 

"Oh man, Nico, did you see his expression what you said he isn't your type?" Annabeth dissolves into giggles again as Percy frowns, still thoroughly confused.

Nico snorts, giving a sarcastic, "Yeah I don't really know why I liked him in the first place." He claps Percy on the back, causing him to jump out of his skin, giving him a rather teasing grin. Percy just frowns more, opening and closing his mouth with no sound coming out.  Nico and Annabeth's laughter revives, their guffaws piercing the air.   If this were even five months earlier, he would have been all kinds of nervous even thinking about touching Percy. 

Nico shakes his head, removing his hand, not a care in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it is 2017 and i just wrote a one sided pernico fic. yeah idk what going on either. 
> 
> anywho this brings my death fic count to numero dos, although the death is sybolic not literal? but it was fun to make it seem like it was literal :). also there wasnt as hanahaki disease fic for percico which is honestly surprising, so i decided to go for it.
> 
> sorta inspired by "contraction, punctuation" which everyone should read, its amazing.


	2. a new beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will Solace feels quite blessed. Nico’s laugh is just about the most incredible thing he has ever heard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alternately titled "the OG gay demigods"

**_ Epilogue: _ **

Will Solace feels quite blessed. Nico’s laugh is just about the most incredible thing he has ever heard. It’s the second day of Nico’s imprisonment, as he likes to call it, and Will is definitely crushing on this boy. Currently the two are curled up in front of Nico’s laptop, watching vine compilations. Their shoulders brush every now and then, causing both of them to blush. Nico winces through his laughter, his body still sore from the fighting.

“Okay, maybe it’s time to stop watching these,” Will is grinning as he closes the laptop. “I don’t want you to pop a stitch laughing at dog vines.”

Nico wheezed and nods, smiling despite the sharp pain in his side. “That’s probably a good idea.” He glances down to see a bit of blood seep through the bandage over his chest.

“Ah, crap. I think we’re too late.” Will stands up, and in the process pushed Nico gently, signaling him to lay down. “I’ll go grab the stitching needle. Don’t move.”

Nico sighs, but lays down as he’s told, taking off his shirt so the bandages underneath could be accessed. Will comes back and cuts them off quickly, pulling out a salve and opening a box that has needles and stitching thread.

“It’s weird, this cut is like a surgeons cut. It’s straight, and I didn’t do these stitches, but they’re perfect.” Nico is careful to keep his face blank. It probably wasn’t the best move to tell a guy you don’t know too well that he barely survived a disease caused by unrequited love. “Also, it’s healing at a normal, non-demigod rate.”

Nico figured that’s his dad’s way of saying, _don’t do that again, you dummy._ “Yeah, it was uh, a weapon that does that.”

“Huh,” Will applied the salve after wiping the excess blood before threading the needle. “The salve should numb most of the pain, but you might feel a pinch.” 

Nico scrunches up his face a bit as Will sews where the stitches had popped. After, Will takes out a new bandage, securing it with medical tape. His hand lingers for a moment, and he looks at Nico’s chest for a moment too long. Nico coughs self consciously, and grabs his shirt, putting it back on. Both of their faces are bright red.

“Um,” Nico stutters and curses in his head. “Thanks.”

Will steps back from the bed, replying, “Yeah, no problem. Do- I mean, do you want to watch a movie? I still can’t believe you haven’t seen The Lion King.”

Nico rolls his eye, “I was too busy being locked away for seventy years, sorry. But, yeah, sure.”

“Great! I’ll pull it up on your laptop.” Nico moves over so they are sitting side by side again. “It’s kind of unfair that you of all people get internet. You can barely even appreciate it.”

“Sucks for you,” Nico lets a smirk tug at his lips. The movie begins to play and they settle back, leaning on the wall behind the bed. Nico di Angelo had not smiled this much in his entire lifetime. But he grins, wide and crooked, ready for a requited future.

Neither of them really pays attention to the movie. They’re too busy sneaking glances at each other when the one of them looks away.

 

Nico doesn't even realize that Percy hasn't entered his mind in a record breaking four whole days. He doesn't realize it a month from then, or a year, or the rest of his life. He never stops to think that he's free of a love so horrifically poetic. He honestly doesn't care. Especially not when Will is the sun, and what body of water can stand up to the sun?

Perhaps the gods aren't all bad. Sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TYSM for reading!!!! honestly if u did like ?? ? this is a fucking pjo fic and its almost 2018 tbh this is surreal lmao im an adult?? anywho i love nico di angelo with all of my gay heart. he deserves so much more than percys dumb ass.
> 
> catch me over at clenchedhands.tumblr.com


End file.
